


The Nikiforov family heirloom

by glitterpile



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Swearing, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterpile/pseuds/glitterpile
Summary: Each family has its heirlooms, passed down between the generations. The Nikiforovs are no exception.Translated from Russian.





	The Nikiforov family heirloom

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Реликвия семьи Никифоровых](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10066907) by [MariTotoshka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariTotoshka/pseuds/MariTotoshka). 



> Translator’s notes:  
> All Russian speech is in italics, whether translated or not.
> 
> Durak = idiot  
> Progul’shik = truant/slacker  
> Bezdar’ = talentless  
> Blyad’ = fuck/damn

The concept of introducing Yuuri to his parents didn't engender any enthusiasm in Viktor right from the beginning. The language barrier and cultural differences were one thing. But Viktor had no idea how to go about explaining their relationship - why they're living together, and what that means. He had no clue what they thought of such things in general, as he had never discussed it with them. 

But they insisted on meeting him, and Yuuri himself didn't understand what the problem was, so Viktor couldn't really delay it. It had only been two months since they'd moved to Saint Petersburg, and his parents were already at the door. They'd even arrived half an hour early. 

Yuuri quickly ran to change into a different shirt - the one he was wearing had suffered serious injury when he was cooking dinner - while Viktor opened the door. And froze. 

Because the first thing to enter the apartment was a huge cage with a snow-white parrot, and only after that did the parents follow in. 

Silence. 

‘What the hell?’ threatened to slip off Viktor’s tongue, but somehow he decided that that wouldn't be the best greeting for a respectful son to start with. His parents looked like they also were lost for words. Even Makkachin was just sitting there, head tilted, and watching the parrot with some concern. 

The prolonged pause was interrupted by Yuuri, who had finally finished changing and now joined them in the corridor. 

“Hello,” he said politely in English and froze, almost like a scared fawn, at some distance away from Viktor. 

The parents glanced at each other, perplexed: their English wasn't great, and they were obviously trying to decide whether to try to repeat the greeting or whether they should respond in their native language. 

Only the parrot didn't stay silent. 

“ _Vitya durak_!” it joyfully declared. 

Viktor felt an inexorable pull to cover his face with his hand, but somehow managed to keep it by his side through sheer force of will. His parents started talking. 

_“We wanted to do something interesting,_ ” his father said gleefully, thrusting the cage towards Viktor. He pretended that he didn't see the movement.

“ _To surprise you,_ ” added his mother. 

Well, it sure worked. 

Yuuri kept flicking his bewildered gaze first to the parrot, then to Viktor, and back again. He clearly had no idea what was going on. Viktor didn't either, to be honest. 

_“Vitya!”_ , his father began triumphantly. 

“ _Durak,_ " cheekily suggested the parrot, flipping open its yellow crest. 

Father ignored it. 

_“As you know, this parrot is our family heirloom. It was given to your grandmother as a wedding gift, and is now being handed over to each next generation. Since you have finally got yourself a wife…”_ his father looked at Yuuri thoughtfully and corrected himself: “ _or, well, a husband… or however it is you're referring to each other, I don't know…_ ” A poke in the ribs from his mother reminded him to get back to the point. _“Essentially, this parrot is now all yours!”_

It was impossible to ignore the offered cage any longer, and Viktor took it, not even trying to maintain some sort of pleasant expression on his face. 

“ _Pr-rogul’shik!_ ", the parrot said sweetly. 

‘Thank goodness that Yuuri doesn't understand Russian,’ thought Viktor. 

His sister was the one who had taught the parrot to swear, but it was useless to ask why it wasn't her getting her life enriched with this gift - Lenka had saved herself from possession of the cursed bird by emigrating to America with no plans to return. Viktor at this point distinctly regretted not staying in Japan. 

“What is this?” whispered Yuuri, while Viktor’s parents took off their coats at the entrance and he himself walked towards the kitchen, trying to figure out where best to place the cage. 

“A parrot.”

Yuuri gave him a truly wounded look. 

“It's a wedding gift,” Viktor hurried to clarify, but, seeing Yuuri’s long face as he continued to be completely baffled by the situation, decided that he shouldn't have said anything. Viktor had no clue how to explain - even in English - all his strange family traditions in a single conversation. 

At least there was one upside: it looked like he wouldn't need to explain anything to his parents. 

 

Dinner was served in somewhat surreal, but overall pleasant circumstances. His father was trying to make himself understood to Yuuri in broken English, his mother was lamenting how Vitya had worked himself to the bone, while Viktor himself was staring in horror at a decadent cake slathered in buttercream roses - his parents had brought more than just the parrot - and trying to think of a plan to stealthily take it to the dumpster. He could occasionally allow himself to relax his diet at this time of year, but Yuuri gained weight so easily that he definitely couldn't afford the extra calories. 

He had already allowed Yuuri to talk him into serving katsudon. Viktor had initially categorically refused, but then decided, why not. A dinner with the parents - that easily counts as a victory, doesn't it? And if it didn't work out, at least Yuuri would have some comfort food. Although in the end it looked like Victor would be needing the comfort more himself. 

His parents eyed their meals warily. Mama hesitantly poked her portion with her fork, and it looked like his father wasn't certain about approaching it. 

_“It's katsudon_ ,” explained Viktor, “ _Yuuri’s favourite dish_.” 

Yuuri, hearing his name among the unfamiliar words, turned to him and smiled nervously. That smile, as always, made Viktor's heart immediately skip a beat.

“I said,” he explained in English, desperately fighting the urge to kiss Yuuri, “that it's your favourite food.” 

Yuuri nodded fervently. 

_“Well,”_ muttered his father, _“at the very least, I can see the love.”_

Viktor didn't understand what exactly he was referring to. 

_“It really is delicious,”_ mother noted, having already eaten a piece of the pork. 

The parrot, up til now blissfully forgotten by everyone, came to life. 

_"Vkusno!"_ it yelled out. 

For a moment there was silence, and then Yuuri broke into helpless laughter and buried his face in Viktor’s shoulder. The damned bird was truly excellent at copying voices. 

_”I see,”_ his mother innocently noted, _"that he already knows the most important things about you."_

Viktor decided not to translate that phrase either. 

 

When the parents had left, Viktor and Yuuri returned to the kitchen to clean up and wash the dishes. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri asked thoughtfully, squeezing detergent onto a sponge, “so what is that bird saying?” 

The parrot fluffed itself up, almost as if it realised that it was being talked about. 

Viktor had just about opened his mouth to explain, when the parrot confidently told them: _”Bezdar-r’!”_ and walked along its perch. 

“Nothing,” Viktor said vengefully and covered the cage with the first piece of fabric he laid eyes on. This was a mistake: the fabric turned out to have been one of Yuuri’s shirts, and he was decidedly not pleased with that turn of events. 

 

Viktor couldn't even dream of getting rid of the parrot: the bird was older than him, older than his parents and would in all likelihood also outlive him and Yuuri. Or at least, that's what he thought until he googled cockatoo lifespans and found that most of them live closer to 60 years than a hundred. In any case, even that adjustment still meant the parrot could be capable of poisoning their domestic lives for many years to come. 

“ _Vitya durak!_ ” it joyfully declared any time a human entered its line of sight. “ _Bezdar’!_ ” 

Yuuri pitied the parrot. 

“He's lonely,” he said, “he just wants to socialise with us.” 

Viktor didn't care in the slightest. Or at least, he hoped that he managed to convince everyone else of that. 

 

But that was just the beginning. The worst came when, having returned home on one fine day, Viktor discovered in his hallway a pair of familiar leopard print boots. With a sudden cold dread, Viktor rushed to the kitchen and stifled a groan. 

Yurio was there in the flesh, sitting backwards on a chair, staring into the parrot’s eyes and solemnly intoning: “ _Blyad’! Blyad’! Blyad’!_ ”. 

The parrot was taking it in. 

Nearby stood Yuuri, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. 

“What…” Viktor valiantly kept a hold on himself and chose a more-or-less printable epithet, “the hell is going on here?!” 

Both Yuris turned towards him. And the parrot, too. 

“Hi,” Yuuri smiled happily, reaching out as if to hug him, but then — as was typical in front of Yurio — blushed and decided against it. 

_”I'm teaching the parrot to swear,”_ Yurio declared defiantly in place of a greeting. 

_”You'll even be teaching Yuuri next!”_ Viktor exclaimed in outrage. 

Yurio shrugged his shoulders. 

“ _I tried to, but Mila told him what those words meant._ ” 

Viktor thanked all the gods humans had ever invented, Mila, and Japanese politeness. Yuuri starting to swear was the absolute last thing he needed at this point. 

“ _But, of course, nobody would tell the parrot,_ ” he grumbled. 

The feathered traitor blinked at him thoughtfully and then spoke its trademark phrase. 

Yurio almost fell off the chair from laughter. 

“ _What a brilliant bird!_ ” he said a few minutes later, wiping away the tears in his eyes. Viktor did not share his excitement. 

“Yurio,” suddenly Yuuri interjected, “what is it saying?” 

But, before Yurio could open his mouth, Viktor pressed a finger to his lips. 

“ _Tell him, and I kill you._ " 

Yurio paused in thought, and then grinned jubilantly. 

“ _Do my choreography for the next season, and I'll keep my mouth shut about the parrot._ " 

Viktor didn't expect to be hit with such vile extortion. 

His feelings of appreciation for Mila didn't hold out for very long — they vanished upon overhearing Yuuri ask her what the word ‘durak’ meant. Mila, that kind soul, had already explained before Viktor had a chance to interfere. Luckily, she didn't get to asking why Yuuri needed to know or to go through all the other phrases. Simply because Viktor had dragged Yuuri off to the other end of the rink and asked him to not do that with a despairing whisper. 

“Well you wouldn't tell me,” Yuuri started, but then stopped and gave him a sympathetic look. “I get it.” 

Viktor decided to leave it at that. 

Viktor's hopes that Yuuri’s attitude towards the parrot would change after this turned out to be in vain. It even improved, if anything. Now the parrot spent a lot of time on Yuuri’s shoulder, was hand-fed treats and listened attentively to whatever it was that Yuuri kept whispering to it. 

That made Viktor demonstratively leave to go hug Makkachin — he was jealous. Although Yuuri just ended up following him, and in the end all four of them would sit together, since they couldn't just leave the parrot out of the group. 

That was what Viktor was reminiscing on as he watched the parrot. Because Yuuri had flown to see his parents for a week, leaving him on his own. Viktor had been invited, of course, but he had managed to catch a cold at the worst moment and decided to stay at home to recover. It would be easier for Yuuri to spend time with his relatives without Viktor as a distraction, anyway. The only thing Viktor hadn't accounted for was how awfully he missed him. Yuuri had thoroughly inserted himself into Viktor's life and now everything in the apartment served as a reminder that he wasn't there. Even the blasted parrot. 

Which, by the way, also looked depressed. 

Opening the cage, Viktor offered his arm. 

“ _Out you get, then._ " 

The parrot lowered its head and pensively let out: 

_“Vitya…”_

Followed by something unintelligible. 

“ _What?_ " asked Viktor, suspecting that he'd misheard. 

The parrot walked up his upper arm, dipped its head, as if asking to lean in, and, when Viktor had done so, chirped right in his ear: “I love you.” 

Or something along those lines. It was obviously trying really hard. 

Viktor felt his throat seize up. 

“Yuuri…”, he whispered, overwhelmed with heartache. So that's what he had been whispering to the parrot, teaching it to say that instead of the endless swearing. 

“Yuuri,” confirmed the parrot. Then paused to think and sadly added: “ _Durak._ ” 

**Author's Note:**

> Translator’s notes:  
> As always, a friendly reminder to please not gift living creatures to other people unexpectedly, and especially not undomesticated exotics. Parrots are perpetual flying toddlers with bolt cutters attached to their faces and good care requires you to be more of a zookeeper than a pet owner. This PSA brought to you by my conure. 
> 
> Say hi to my dumb birb on [tumblr](https://tasty-pile-of-glitter.tumblr.com/)


End file.
